


Scemma Drabbles

by Paxorsym



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxorsym/pseuds/Paxorsym
Summary: A small handful of scemma drabbles
Relationships: Emma Frost/Scott Summers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I don't own these characters, I'm not making money off this and they are the intellectual property of Marvel ( whether this is good or bad I'm not sure anymore)
> 
> 2) These come from a larger collection from my roleplay days on Tumblr. My RP-partner at the time challenged me to write 30 of these drabbles all of which were basically under 500 words. Since then I've spruced them up a bit to make them more complete as a gift to his pestering. 
> 
> 3) They range from fluff to angsty. And from verse to verse.
> 
> Thanks for reading! C:

**1\. AFRAID**

**EARTH 101001 ( AKA the Anime Verse.)**

She often wonders if he is just as afraid of this as she is; if he thinks the same things she does, but she can’t bring herself to ask.  
In the dark of her room, stolen moments with him haunt her mind. A brief glimpse of the world of Scott Summers’s bleeding heart. Gnawing her lip, Emma flips herself to her back, deciding she’ll lie awake for a little longer before throwing the idea in the rubbish altogether.

The months had been interesting. Could she call it that? The rocky foundation in which she’d started here never led to this. How could it? And yet here she was, thoughts like a schoolgirl. Had she been someone else, Emma simply would have rolled her eyes at the affection of it all nauseating. And yet, those thoughts will not be pushed down. If only she’d ask.  
As if asking makes it even more ludicrous she’s scared.

It strikes her at odd moments when she can’t sleep, like tonight, and the world is forced through her head. It’s the uncertainty of this all that has her gripping all the tighter. The back and forth of them both. The tentative nature reminds her of a girl who had long since died. It’s the way her knees grow weak, her heart races at just a bare touch.

She knows how these things end, and she afraid to admit she’s not ready for the crash and burn. Not yet. Allow her to savor the feel just a bit more of the rush. She’s not willing to see it burn up in smoke and hellfire once more as these things always do for her. Her track record enough proof. A sigh pushes past her lips as dawn breaks through the sheer curtains of her room.  
She doesn’t tell him these things cross her mind; his shoulders are heavy enough without her heaving doubts upon their fragile state of equilibrium.

Deciding sleep is no longer an option, Emma makes her way to the window. Pensive as she gazes on out of the new home of Xavier’s. The few students they managed to rustle about still snug in their beds. The soft rays of the sun just breaking the horizon. And yet she knows she’s not the only one up anymore.

A soft blue gaze lands on the body below her. Even now she catches herself wondering if this is what it’s supposed to be like. That having that nagging doubt, the self-sabotaging pattern she so quickly falls into is just the natural way feelings and emotions work. She wouldn’t know, of course, it’s all very raw, new, and dangerous with him. Explosive and forging in a way she can’t quite put her finger on. Nimble fingers play with the silver chain around her neck as she continues to survey the grounds.

There’s something soft about the way she looks down at him.

Often when she’s alone after tutoring Hisako, she slips into delusions she could be _that_ girl for more than just one night, more than just one fling for someone as she often was before him. A small voice will pop into her head and whisper she could be with him.

But she believes it to be out of her nature, it’s just buried and latent with Scott. Sooner or later those tendencies will rear their ugly heads. Emma knows what type of woman she is. Has for a long time. She’s the girl you seek when you’re lonely and drunk. She’s the woman you call when you want something handled quietly, efficiently and without emotions, She’s the passing fling and the one wild night. She was _toxic_. Everything she touches, every ounce of happiness she’s seen is fleeting because she is at her core often that same scared little girl. She’s scared she’ll find herself down the rabbit hole once more. That her notion of what this is and isn’t will be shattered by harsh reality.

Staring out at him she thinks for a moment when he’ll wise up and go back to the way things were the Mastermind debacle, before she’d proved her metal, before those courtesy nods became smiles and fleeting touches. And then what? She’ll go on living, but at what costs to the softness beneath her exterior of cold and diamond? What then? That’s what scares Emma Frost more than her other faults. More than a haunting past.

A small smile graced her lips as he catches her looking before he disappears in the manor. She doesn’t shy away from as many others would at the attention of being caught. No, her mind is far too occupied for such things and she often makes bold choices in her life. There was no sense in playing coy anymore. One last sigh leaves her as the fears are pushed back once more. Turns to go about her day, she boxes them back up to unpack another time when sleep alludes her.


	2. Delirious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short prompt of the word: Delirious.

**2\. Delirious**   
  
**( non-canon )**

She knows it isn’t real. It feels real. Not that it helps, of course. Knowing one’s gone mad and accepting it are completely different things.  
The voices hurt. They scream. They whisper. They coax her to listen, even when she doesn’t want to let them in. She knows what it feels like to have someone rummage around in her head. To have their fingers, grating at her mind as if to rip her apart.  
  
She knows this person but can’t move past the paralytic nature of it all.  
  
This isn’t… real?  
  
What’s real is… she doesn’t know anymore. Can’t push past the fog long enough to receive her answer. She remembers something happening. A hiccup in some mission. But the reality of it all alludes her. The taste of diazepam, or some other sedative, fogs her mind, and sleep beckons further on. A seductive whisper to just fade away in the blink of an eye.  
It begs to pull her under. To lull her back, but she fights it. She has to fight it. It’s wrong.  
  
The longer she sits there, hands clutching at her head, the longer she can feel it all sinking inside. Not her thoughts. Not her voice. Theirs. The faint sound of her name being called echoes until it’s swallowed by the others. She can’t break the spell, maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe it’s just her imagination to hope someone is there.  
She wants to shift skins. Wants to change so she can sleep, can have her own thoughts to herself. But she can’t. The numbness just beyond her reach, her fingers brush the cold stone as she’s dragged back under. Agony as the voices materialized in some corporal form clutch to her.  
  
They bombarded her and she knows she’s thrashing about, can feel the weight of her muscles toss and turn. She can hear herself scream, cracking the cloud that suffocates her slightly. It burns, the hoarseness in her throat.  
  
She’s submerged, floating from her body and not in it. Not experiencing the scene that appears in a smoke before her. These aren’t her thoughts, this isn’t real.  
  
But she’s trapped. A small child unable to control her powers once more. The tightness in her head returns and she can feel the tears collect in her eyes. Even as they squeeze tightly, she just wants them to stop. It’s like she fourteen again. The familiar pain races down her spine. She wants them gone, but every attempt is sluggish. Every thought of her own seems to be pulled at a slowed pace.  
  
Warmth spiders up her arm, fingers lace with her own. It’s a sensation she clutches to without hesitation. It’s real, something that seems to shatter the world in her mind.  
A voice mumble just outside her where she can make out the words. She knows that deep rumble. Knows the tilts and influxes that come with worry from it. She wants to scream. Call out for help. But her voice is drowned out.  
  
Hands fist tightly, she can feel her nails bit into her palms. Feel how white her knuckles are growing. That warm sensation from before sending a squeeze racing down her arm. A signal she is not alone. Despite the trap she finds herself in.  
  
The sound of blood pumping echoes in her ears. It was something tangible to grasp on to. Something to pull her from the abyss of astral bodies and minds. That warmth spread, gripping at her. Some aura of protection that engulfs her little by little.  
  
 _Scott._  
  
The name fractures something in her mind. Pushes her forward. Banishes the delirious nature that’s consumed her psyche. She will not tolerate this anymore. This place. These thoughts. She is stronger than this. And he’s the reminder of that. She doesn’t need to be in his mind to feel it radiating now. It shines like a lighthouse, beckoning her closer and closer.  
  
With a gasping breath, the cacophony shatters. Cracking and fissuring. Parting the waves that fight to keep her down, that claw at her. He’s stronger. The strongest person she knows. And yet she can feel the stress, the worry, the uncertainty rolling off him in waves.  
  
Her stomach ties in knots. This is not a feeling she’s used to. But it’s real.  
  
She clings to it as the fragmented pieces of her mind give way to clarity.  
  
Bright white blinds her. The smell of familiarity and home engulf her. Her vision adjusts and she can feel the cotton in her throat as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. This is not her mind palace anymore. This is not the sterile room inside her mind where she was drowning.  
  
Her gaze drifts over to him. His glasses resting on the edge of the bed, fingers pinching his brow. Tired. He must be, she thinks before blinking to drive it all away. To focus. To move past the delirium of it all. To separate reality from her mind, but it’s not working. The notion to fall back into the abyss tugs at her. Whispering sweet nothings to drag her back down.  
  
His head hangs as he readjusts his glasses, hand seeking hers out. Clutching it tightly, her chest squeezes.  
  
She blinks a few more times; the fog receded little by little. She wants to ask what happened. But the bed, the monitor, the feel of blood brushing her lip and it trickles down from her nose, the ache in her head is all she needs to know something bad happened.


End file.
